The gold leaf. [volume] (Henderson, N.C.) 1881-1911, 1887-09-29

Henry Blount in Wilson Mirror1
In our stroll the other evening we
came upon poor, weeping mother,
bowed down in anguish upon a little
grave, which held in its cold embrace
her hearts sunlight, her bosom's sweet
est and purest joy-her darling little
angel child. And our own heart
melted, and our eyes filled with tears
as we saw her struggle with a grief
| which she could not conquer, and sink
down under the waves which she could
not stem or buffet. Her heart was
torn into tatters, and the briny mes
sengers Of griet, which run to the eye
lids, told Of the anguish that was surg
ing and writl ing within, and of the
hopes that were then shattered and
crushed and ruined by the fashing of
the billows that sweep DER the ocean
of bereavement. We did not attempt
to soothe her bleeding heart. Words
of consolation cannot calm the stormy
beathings of that wild grief, which
sweeps through the bosom when a
loved one is torn from its fond and
tender embrace. The bursting cloud
spends it's rain, and then comes bright
and beauteous CLEANS Of sparkling
sunshine. SO grief must dissolve itself
in tears, and then the soft, mild, gol
den sunlight of the christian religion
will lend Its chastening and mellow
ing CLEANS of resignation to tint with
its bright and roseate colorings of COM
fort and blessed cheer the blacklist
cerements of earthly gloom and sor--
row. Yes, there is bright side to
even the darkest shadows, and from
the deepest funeral gloom have sprung
holy and beautiful CLEANS of the
sweetest and most precious light-a
light which streams in endless brillian-
cy from off the great white Throne
of God, and brightens with its lustre
even the portals of the tomb.
But to that poor mother that bright
light is not Eow seen. The briny
spray which rises SO fast from the deep
flowing river of grief, blinds her vision,
aud through its glistening mists she
cannot see the radiant threads of
comfort that Heaven is weaving around
her in a shining robe of beauteous
brightness. That dead child, in that
tedr bathed grave over which she was
bending like some faithful weeping
willow, was to her a heaven of Joy and
delight In its beaming smiles she
saw all the glories and all the splen-
dors OF blessed elysium of rapture
and happiness mirrored beautifully
there. In its innocent prattle she
heard life's sweetest and purest melody.
But now that smile which made the
earth SO bright is Withdrawn, and the
voice that made such music to her ears
is hushed, and that which made Ter
life so sweet and so beautiful is now
Sin a coffin hid, in grave enstarred
by da;ses." Yes, that little life e-barque
could not withstand the storms that
beat upon the sea of time, and so, at
an early age, it passed away from its
furious winds and chatting billows out
upon the quiet waters of the waveless
ocean Of Eternity, and there amid the
precious hush of Gods Peace, be
still' it rests on the placid bosom Of
blissful Immortality. No rustling winds
ripple make upon that blessed calm
for all is peace and rest and sweet
repose-the blessed balm for all earth's
woes. So take comfort and find solace
in the thought that the little child,
which came like dew drop, went like
the mist, for frail as leaf by the au
tumn's winds kissed, it faded as sweet
ly as roses in June, and its last note
of pain is an angels tune. So to that
poor mother We say, though you can
not see it now, the rainbow of comfort
will soon CLEAN upon the dark cloud
of bereavement. But until then let
the tears flow. Let the river Of your
grief bear your troubles all away.
Friends will care for you and for the
body from which the spirit of your babe
has gone. Gather up the little dolls,
the little shoes, the bits of ribbons,
the blessed keepsakes, and put them
away to form an island in the desert
of your great grief. Think of them ;
cherish them as sacred objects-as
stepping stones on which you can
kneel or stand to reach up for the
kisses that await you. Death is not
a punishment. 1t is Gods greatest
blessing to man, next to the life and
the loves that are eternal. You will
not have long to wait. Bear your
SORROWS well and JOY will soon come.
There is no worse existence than this.
Every move from the initial step is
forward to better conditions, after we
have forded- the river. We all come
into the world and thank God we have
to leave it, and to be with our lives and
our loves forever. We will forget
the sorrow of Dartinp in the iOy ot